The Apothecary of the Bayou
The air in the town of Blackwater didn't move; it stagnated, thick with the scent of rotting cypress and ancient, undisturbed mud. Silas arrived in a wagon that looked like it had been salvaged from a shipwreck, carrying a leather medical bag that smelled of sulfur and dried herbs. He was a man of few words and many scars, his eyes reflecting the murky depths of the surrounding swamps. The...
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